By Susan Martin, Collections Services

This is the fifth post in a series about the wartime experience of Charles Cornish Pearson. Go back and read Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV for the full story.

Today we return to the letters of Sgt. Charles Cornish Pearson of the 101st Machine Gun Battalion, serving in France during World War I. By the early summer of 1918, Charles had been serving for a year, and he wrote more often about specific things at home that he missed. His letters are peppered with wistful reminiscences of family vacations and home-cooked food. He longed to spend an evening just listening to records or taking in a movie (though war movies had lost their appeal, he said). He also missed his young nieces and nephews. In early June, he wrote to his sister-in-law:

Glad to hear the “kiddies” are well. My how I would like to see them. Believe me I think of them often, especially when I run across French youngsters. It is quite a common occurence when in a town for a couple of the youngsters to run up to you, & grab hold of your hand & walk along with you, & you know that cann’t help but make you think of the little ones at home & wonder how they are.

The month of June was fortunately short on “hair raising experiences.” As always, Charles reassured his family that he felt well and optimistic about his chances of survival. He lovingly scolded his mother for worrying, telling her, “They haven’t got me yet.” To his brother Bill he wrote, “I am a great little shell dodger […] but when they come down OH MY, what a sensation, makes you long for home & a little peaceful scenery.” However, while no fan of the military life, he wondered if he’d be able to adjust after the war.

Haven’t sat down to a table to a meal for so long that I am afraid I wouldn’t know how to act. […] Fear greatly that I will get so accustomed to this life that when I get back in the states, I will have to build me a dugout in the backyard to live in, won’t be able to live in a steam heated apartment. Will be kind of tough on my wife.

At the end of the month, the 101st Machine Gun Battalion was on the move again. Of course, Charles was circumspect about his location, so I consulted Philip S. Wainwright’s History of the 101st to fill in the details. Wainwright describes several stops on the way to the battalion’s final destination in the woods near Montreuil-aux-Lions. This was an active sector.

Charles wrote to his parents from this position on 15 July 1918. It would be almost two weeks before he wrote another letter to anyone—an unusually long gap in his correspondence. What happened during that gap? The Battle of Château-Thierry.

Wainwright’s history contains a detailed description of the fighting at Château-Thierry, including troop movements, strategy, etc., as well as the battalion’s pursuit of the retreating German army to Trugny. But Charles was taciturn. In a brief and apologetic letter dated 28 July, his first after the battle, he explained to his parents that he didn’t “feel much in the mood for going into details […] One sure does lead a pace when things are breaking the way they have and you often wonder how you keep going.” He was clearly shaken.

Charles opened up about the battle a few days later, in a series of longer letters to his family. His account is harrowing. There were no trenches, dugouts, or sheltered emplacements in this sector, so the troops’ position was unprotected except for a few sparse patches of woods and hastily dug holes. The men of the 101st were forced to haul their heavy machine guns, sometimes by hand, back and forth over many kilometers of damaged roads. Rations were small to nonexistent. To top it all off, the fighting took place during a heavy thunderstorm. As Charles wrote to his brother Bill on 4 August:

Would like to relate to you all my experiences of the past month but […] certain of them are not pleasant ones and the less said about them the better.

Sure have had my belly full of war the past month & suppose have come as near to being killed as I ever will be until my time comes. One gets to be a fatalist over here (except when one is dodging shells) as often times one gets the hardest knock when things are seemingly most peaceful.

The details of Charles’ account are confirmed by Wainwright, who states that “more was learned in the short time between the 18th and 26th than could possibly have been taught by years of maneuvers” (p. 43). Wainwright’s book also helped me to identify one of the photographs that came to the MHS with Charles’ papers. Below is an image of the graves of William Alfred Bruton, Paul Watson Butler, and Andrew Smith (a.k.a. “Duke”) Wellington. The three men were killed by shell fire on 25 July 1918 and buried in La Fère Woods. All were members of Charles’ company.

Beginning on 2 August, the men of the 101st were billeted in the peaceful town of Courteron and enjoyed ten well-deserved days of rest. They swam in the Marne River and caught up on their letters home. Officers and non-commissioned officers, including Charles, were granted a 48-hour leave to see the sights in Paris.

Join me in a few weeks for Part VI!

By Daniel Tobias Hinchen, Reader Services

In a previous post here on the Beehive, I introduced readers to William Emerson Baker and his estate called Ridge Hill Farms, highlighting his affinity for all things porcine. As mentioned before, the MHS recently acquired a handful of items that relate to Ridge Hill Farms, including documents, artifacts, and photographs. Today, we return to the estate once more, but for a different sort of affair.

You’ve lost your bear, so bear your loss,

Of all your hopes the ruin;

And while you drain the bitter draught,

          Reflect–’twas your own “bruin.”

                                                “A.M.H”

William E. Baker purchased Billy Bruin – a two and a half year old black Labrador bear – from a Boston showman. On 15 July 1874, Billy was delivered to Baker’s estate at Ridge Hill Farm, and promptly escaped three hours later. Over the next ten days, Billy roamed the area, frightening parishioners in Dedham, Selectmen in Needham, and Irish quarrymen in Quincy, among others. With a sizable reward offered for his capture, Billy was pursued as far as Weymouth. Sadly, a starving Billy was shot and fatally wounded while crossing a river in that town, then carried on the current into Boston Harbor, finally washing ashore in the town of Hull about 25 July.

Upon Baker’s request, the body of Billy Bruin was returned to Ridge Hill Farms. The hide was mounted by a taxidermist and the remains were buried in a $2,000 solid copper casket on 8 August 1874. And while this was a somber affair, Baker, in his usual style, took the opportunity to make it a grand and remarkable event. As with an event to lay the conerstone of his new piggery, Baker sent formal invitations to the funeral of his departed bear. It is said that over 1,000 invited guests and several hundred others showed up for the affair. And as with the other party, those who could not attend sent their regrets along with bits of inspired poetry, published and shared with guests that day. No less a personage than Oliver Wendell Holmes extended his regrets to Baker:

Dear Sir,

Many thanks for your polite invitation to attend the obsequies of the lamented plantigrade. I am sorry that it will not be in my power to attend upon the melancholy occasion. I have a great respect for bears since those two femal one taught the little children of Bethel and Belial that they must not be rude to elderly persons. I think a loose bear or two might be of service in our community, and I regret much the loss of an animal who might have done so much as a moral teacher for the young of this city and its suburbs.

I am, dear Sir, yours very truly,

O. W. Holmes

269 Beacon Street, August 1, 1874.

Among the recently-acquired items now at the MHS is a watercolor painting which shows the funeral procession for the ill-fated Billy Bruin.

The Funeral of Billy Bruin / [landscape] by an unidentified artist

From a distance, the image fairly clearly shows a procession, of sorts, but it is on closer inspection that the wonderful idiosyncrasies of a Baker-hosted event start to show.

Detail. The Funeral of Billy Bruin

Here we can see a segment of the procession, with the stuffed hide of Billy at the center. With him are members of a marching band, various costumed individuals including the pallbearers, and sundry other onlookers. In seeking more information online, I found a piece over at the Wellesley History blog (titled “Billy Bruin and his festive funeral”) which thankfully sheds some more light on this colorful cast of characters. To wit:

What follows is a partial list of the participants: the Grand Marshall (Baker) a la cheval, the stuffed corpse of Billy Bruin on a bier carried by four men wearing animal skins to represent the Bulls and Bears of the Financial District, 5-month-old bear cub Topsy, the 20-piece Natick Cornet Band, men dressed as frogs to symbolize the greenbacks of American finance, someone dressed as a monkey as a nod to the wise heads who thought they knew how to catch Billy, Native American hunters, a “black man turned white with bare fright,” and following up at the rear, a handful of babies that supposedly had been swallowed by the bear.

And to that, I know not what to add…

To find what other items here at the MHS are related to Ridge Hill Farms and William Emerson Baker ,or to read the full story of Billy Bruin consider Visiting the Library!

Sources

– Crumbaker, Leslie G., The Baker Estate, or Ridge Hill Farms of Needham, Needham, Mass.: Needham Historical Society, 1975.

– “Billy Bruin and his festive funeral,” Wellesley History, accessed 10 April 2018 at https://wellesleyhistory.wordpress.com/townsman-articles/billy-bruin-and-his-festive-funeral/

By Gwen Fries, Adams Papers

“The Russian People pass their lives in a continual and alternate succession of feasting and fasting,” John Quincy Adams stated to his mother without so much as a salutation. From his vantage point as minister plenipotentiary to St. Petersburg in 1811, Adams wrote to his parents about Russian politics, court life, and traditions. Based on the eight pages he dedicated to it, one of the customs that intrigued John Quincy most was how Russians celebrated Easter.

Panaromic view of St. Petersburg by J. A. Atkinson, c.1807.(Library of Congress)

In mid-February seven weeks of “rigorous lent” began during which believers should eat “absolutely nothing but bread and salt.” John Quincy acknowledged that the severity of the restrictions were somewhat abated in practice, and that “among the highest class of the nobility there are persons not extremely scrupulous about observing the fast at-all.” This laxity came at a price, however, as the public was severely critical of those who did not follow the orders of the Church. For this reason, “there are few even of the highest ranks, but choose to be thought regular in their practice.” He added that the Imperial family was “punctilious in setting the example.”

Besides being without the foods to which they were accustomed, theaters were closed for all seven weeks of Lent. “No entertainments are given, and the families which profess to be scrupulous in their duties neither pay nor receive visits.” In place of the usual merriments, there were religious services three or four times a week. In the last week of lent, called “Passion-week,” there were ceremonies every day.

On Good Friday, funeral processions led into churches where elaborate representations of Christ’s sepulcher were erected and lit until the midnight services on Easter morning. At the stroke of midnight, cannons were fired to signal the start of three- or four-hour services in all the churches of St. Petersburg.

As a foreign minister, John Quincy was permitted to attend services in the chapel in the Imperial palace. He arrived at the palace “in full dress as to Court” and was ushered into the chapel just before midnight. He soon heard the thunder of cannons and observed Emperor Alexander I and the Imperial family process into the candlelit chapel. Attendants distributed lit wax tapers as the all-male choir performed. At the conclusion of the Mass, seven priests formed a line before the Emperor, each holding a holy relic. The Emperor kissed each relic and “embraced the Priests themselves.” John Quincy wrote that the other members of the Imperial family followed in succession, “excepting that the Priests instead of being embraced by the Ladies, kiss’d their hands.” He informed Abigail that this was a new trend with which many believers from all ranks of society were displeased because it removed the “primitive equality of all Christian believers” and “the purity of Christian innocence” from the tradition. He writes that many preferred “the good old smack upon the cheek and lips, which they boast of as having always been given at Easter.” Interestingly, John Quincy noted, “Every individual in the chapel. . .was understood to have the privilege of going up and embracing the Emperor.” The people attending the ceremony excitedly exercised this privilege, keeping the Emperor kissing and embracing for a full hour.

On the afternoon of Easter Sunday, St. Isaac’s Square became home to “Rope-dancers, Chinese-Shadows, puppet-shows, mechanical and optical representations, strange animals, and the like delights of the Populace.” The square, John Quincy related, was also filled with twenty or thirty carnival rides, “filled by a succession of men, women and children who keep them in perpetual motion.” He observed that the fair was enjoyed only by “the lowest classes,” and that anyone who owned or could hire a carriage spent the afternoon circling the Square, “beholding all these amusements. . .and at the same time exhibiting themselves, and their Carriages, and Liveries and Horses, in Spectacle to one Another.”

One tradition that pervaded all classes was the custom of giving eggs, which was “as universal as that of kissing,” John Quincy told his mother. Those in the lower classes exchanged hard-boiled eggs that were dyed red. People with greater wealth gifted artificial eggs made of everything from marble and porcelain to candied sugar. John Quincy assured Abigail that his four-year-old son was partaking in the festivities. “Boxes of Sugar-plums assume this form in presents for children, much to the entertainment of master Charles.” Charles also had the opportunity to gaze in shop windows lavishly decorated with “multitudes of these artificial eggs, of various sizes, suspended by silk ribbons of all the gaudy Colours” and to hear street vendors hawk the candy eggs, gingerbread, and other candy. “In short,” John Quincy concluded, “these objects are so multiplied at these times before the eyes of a Stranger to the Custom, that he would almost be induced to believe that in Russia, breeding eggs, and kissing was the business of human life.”

By Susan Martin, Collection Services

This is the fourth post in a series about the wartime experience of Charles Cornish Pearson. Go back and read Part I, Part II, and Part III for the full story.

After a short hiatus, I’m happy to return to the story of Sgt. Charles Cornish Pearson of the 101st Machine Gun Battalion in World War I. We last heard from him in April 1918, so I’ll pick up now in May. I’ve been looking forward to this installment because it was during this month that Charles wrote some of my favorite letters in the collection.

Things were relatively quiet for Charles’ battalion after the terrible Battle of Seicheprey in northeastern France. Philip S. Wainwright says very little about the month of May 1918 in his History of the 101st Machine Gun Battalion, except that it “passed uneventfully.” But I imagine these calmer periods gave soldiers time to pause and reflect on their experiences, for better or worse. Certainly Charles wrote longer and more introspective letters this month, and in them he took a broader look at the war he’d been fighting for almost a year. He was housed in barracks somewhere near Seicheprey when he wrote to his parents on the 5th.

Please get the idea of the awfulness of this war out of your head […] We are not such a terribly afraid lot and as long as they keep us supplied with the necessary articles of food clothing & ammunition why we don’t kick a great deal. Money supplies & less politics are what we need over here and I hope the people in the U.S. will gradually awaken to these facts & the sooner they do so why the sooner the war will be over.

As for his recent “exciting experiences,” Charles showed remarkable composure (or at least put on a brave face for his family). His letters give us a fascinating look into the psychology of soldiers in the trenches.

Now that we have done our bit at the Front & had a taste of gas, shells air raids etc. why there isn’t much new to experience & one settles down to take it all as it comes. Do our bit & then try to forget about it as quickly as possible. […] We aren’t down hearted, but don’t think that we forget the serious side of this business and realize that the next day may be the time that we get our stomachful a plenty. Its all a matter of chance anyway & […] it makes little difference what you do, if its your turn, why you get it. 

Fifteen days later, still enjoying the well-deserved rest and relaxation, he wrote at length to his younger sister Jean. The collection came with one photograph of her, taken ca. 1910-1915.

Jean—short for Jeannette—was about 26 years old in 1918 and lived in Masters, Colorado, with her husband Thomas B. McPherson and, I think, a young son and daughter. Unfortunately, the MHS doesn’t hold her letters to Charles, but she’d been a steadfast correspondent, often sending cigarettes and care packages. His letter, dated 20 May, reveals not only his affection for her, but also his sense of humor, compassion, and humility. After reassuring Jean that things were fairly quiet (“You don’t care for excitement these days after you have had a little of it”), he launched into a description of another soldier named Charlie. I particularly like his euphemism “over the weather,” which was a new one for me.

[He] was a little Sicilian in my old squad who when ever he got tight found the English language a little beyond him. […] He sure was a comical chap and furnished us with many a laugh. Used to always call me “Boss” and when he came in evenings a little bit over the weather would have to sit on the edge of my bunk and tell me all his troubles. Poor Charlie, he was not a success at the front. He developed a case of shell shock and was sent back to the Base and suppose we will never see him again.

Later he corrected a misunderstanding in his endearingly modest way.

Where do you get that “Hero” stuff in your last letter? Indifference to fear etc. Don’t you believe it for a minute. Yours truly is just as frightened as the next fellow and can duck and run for dug-out just as quick as the next fellow. Still this fear stuff doesn’t figure a great deal at that; you may be scared to death still if you have to do something why you have to, that is all.

And he explained in no uncertain terms who the real heroes were, downplaying his own hardships and betraying not even a trace of self-pity.

Besides as far as danger goes we don’t get it the way the doughboys do, he is the fellow that stands the brunt of this war and deserves the credit even more than any other line of service, aviators not excepted. Why? because he stands real hardship which many of us are lucky to get out of. He goes up to the trenches for six or seven days at a stretch, lives in mud and water, gets very little sleep and eats when he gets a chance […] To see those boys hiking back from the trenches makes one (who doesn’t get that part of the game) think that doughboy is the fellow to be pitied.

Stay tuned for Part V of Charles’ story.